


(your love is) holy

by The_Wavesinger



Category: Holy - Zolita (Music Video)
Genre: F/F, Growing Up Together, Implied/Referenced Misogyny, Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Vaguely Post-Apocalyptic Setting, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 12:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14769608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wavesinger/pseuds/The_Wavesinger
Summary: Zolita and Lilith meet as children at Cadosia. Every step they take after leads to freedom and to death.





	(your love is) holy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flowerdeluce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerdeluce/gifts).



Straight-backed. Eyes forward. Don't listen to their poison. Pretend, don't listen, but don't be an idiot (a fucking idiot, in the privacy of her own mind, but not aloud, never aloud, because good girls, good wives, Children of the Lady, don't swear, do they?).

The blow is—

The blow is what it is.

(Breathe, Zolita, _breathe_. You're fine. As long as they're not pulling anyone up here along with you, you're _fine_. This mantra doesn't stop her cheek from smarting, but it pulls her out of her head. Out and somewhere far away, somewhere that isn't here.)

Now She's shouting in Zolita's face, empty words, and suddenly Zolita is being shoved down. _Fuck_.

She bites back the swear word, tastes copper and salt, and suddenly she's back, she's back with Her screaming above her, now, her knees and lip and face and hands smarting.

“I told you to _kneel_ , Young Lady.” Spit flies, and stings where it lands on her cheek, on the flesh Her ring has split open.

 _I have a name. It's Zolita._ But this, too, she doesn't speak aloud. She has a name, and she won't give it to Them. They can have whatever names They give her, but not her name. Her name is hers. It's sacred, untouchable. It's hers.

 

***

 

(This is Zolita's first memory of Lilith:

A high voice, poised but verging on pleading, “Can't you take him too?”

Zolita—she's not Zolita then, she's still Eve, all of them are Eve—knows what's going to happen. She's heard this before, even though she shouldn't have. The sharp tone she's so familiar with, Her anger. “No.”

Biting, swift. Zolita-Eve shivers.

“ _Please_.”

“No. Either we take her, or neither of them.”

“We can't—you know what it's like, outside, I don't want my children—”

“Your daughter can stay. This is a place only for young ladies.”

A pause. Then, “Fine.”

Of course. Of course the other person agrees; She always wins. It's right and good that She and He always win, They say so, but.

But sometimes, Zolita-Eve wonders.

The other person: “Lilith—”

“No.” A third voice, sounding a little like Zolita-Eve's, not so _old_. “No. No. No. I won't go with Abraham, you can't make me!”

“Lilith.” A sigh. “Lilith, please.”

Then, Her: “I'll give you a moment.”

Zolita-Eve scrambles as she hears Her footsteps. By some miracle, she manages to fly to her bed. When She checks on her, Zolita-Eve's chest is rising and falling.

But: _Lilith_. Zolita-Eve traces the shape of the word with her mouth. Lilith.

Huh.)

 

***

 

She doesn't kneel.

Or rather, she doesn't kneel of her own volition. A hand presses against her head, forces down, and her hair is tugged, sharp.

It hurts. Her cheek still throbs. She goes.

(Graceful defeat is a lesson she's still learning. She digs her thumb into her palm, just below her finger, and doesn't close her eyes and doesn't move. Allowing her body to fold is hard now in a way it was never before.)

There are words, and words, and words, and She's still screaming at Zolita, but Zolita doesn't look up. Her hands have folded themselves together behind her back by rote, and she's staring at the ground.

The words wash over her, the blows wash over her, and she floats. Far away, away and out, out into the world she's only ever heard about from Lilith's whispered words—

No. Fuck no. She's not going to think about Lilith, not here, not now. Not like this.

Zolita bites her lip, and the cut across her cheek stretches. Hurts. It feels good, not-here not-now, a pain she can control. _Hah_. Bet She hasn't thought of that. Take what She gives and make it hers.

Her smile is a secret heart-smile, one She can't see. One She can't touch.

 

***

 

(Lilith-Eve is given the narrow bed next to Zolita's. There are only four girls their age, Lilith-Eve and Zolita-Eve and the other two Eves. There are older girls, too, but they're in a different building.

“Hi,” Lilith-Eve says, “What's your name?”

 _Shut up_ , Zolita-Eve thinks, _shut up_. But she stays still and silent, doesn't say a word. She knows the rules,

“My name's Lilith. What's yours?”

This does spur in action. “You're Eve, hear me? _Eve_.” She still remembers Rachel and—

And that's never going to happen again, not if Zolita-Eve can help it. Yes, Her punishments hurt, but no-one is going to be hung on a rope and left 'til they stop moving just because they can't remember their names and won't forget Outside.

Zolita knows she's safe from Her and Him anyway, that they won't hurt her the way they did Rachel. For some reason, she's that safe.

So she swings herself onto Lilith-Eve's bed and whispers the secrets of the House.)

 

***

 

“Hold out your hand.” Finally.

The punishment is always long, drawn out, the way She likes it, and lots of cuts and bruises that the other girls never, ever get. Though this time, from the ache of her side, it's more than cuts and bruises.

Can't be helped, now.

And at least they've come to the final part of the Punishment, and Zolita's almost joyful as she holds out her hand, dizzy with relief.

The cane whistles through the air and comes down, hard, on her palm.

It burns, stinging lines of fire across her hand, her entire body centred on the angry, throbbing, pain, but she keeps her arm up and out.

The punishment for not doing so is dire. She's tired, and she hurts. No more punishment, and if that means getting through the cane-strokes without flinching or moving, then so be it. She'll do it somehow.

 

***

 

(Lilith-Eve whispers about Outside.

Zolita-Eve joins her in her bed, sometimes, but she isn't stupid enough to listen to Lilith-Eve's whispers, isn't stupid enough not to either tell her to shut up or ignore her.

One of the other Eves, though.

One of the other Eve is really, really stupid.

Zolita-Eve hears them, one day, when She's with the older girls and the last Eve is in Punishment, whispering together in a corner of the room.

“Outside,” Lilith-Eve is saying, “there are a lot of people. We were travelling in a big group, but we got attacked, and Mama —”

Zolita-Eve remembers Her whip-sharp voice, from a far away memory that's become blurry with time: “There is no Outside, not for you, not now. This is a new world, and we are making a new people. When the time comes, you will be a good wife, but until then, there is no Outside”. It had been just her, then, and the older girls, and she can still remember the pain, and she can't—she won't—

Anger like she's never known before bubbles up inside her, anger and fear and _nottohernevertoherit'sokayformebutnottoher_ , and she crosses the room in two strides. Clears her throat.

Lilith-Eve jumps, smiles guiltily. “I was just telling Edie—”

“ _Edie_?”

“My name is Edie,” the other Eve says, and her chin juts up defiantly. Zolita-Eve doesn't really know her, and she doesn't care.

“Oh.” Oh. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She should just walk away, she knows. But neither of them have any brains, apparently.

“You want me to tell her,” Zolita-Eve says quietly, “that you,” she jerks her head at Edie-Eve, “are Edie, and you,” the jerk this time points to Lilith, “are Lilith? You want me to tell her your stories of the outside?”

Lilith-Eve opens her mouth to say something, but Edie-Eve shakes her head quickly. Good. She remembers Rachel, at least. And she's turning away from Zolita-Eve, but hopefully she'll tell Lilith-Eve.

(The whispering stops, or gets quieter, Lilith-Eve doesn't know which. She doesn't _want_ to know which.)

Neither of them speak to her after that. They pretend she doesn't exist, and she's not welcome in Lilith-Eve's bed any more.

But none of that matters, because neither of them, and especially not Lilith-Eve, becomes Rachel.)

 

***

 

Afterwards, Lilith slips under Zolita's covers and holds her, peppers her face with kisses and listens to the hitch of Zolita's breath as she breathes in and her ribs ache with every lungful of air.

It's nothing, it can be nothing. But it's a comfort anyway, and Zolita accepts the soothing words, the gentle kisses. She welcomes Lilith's arms around her and pretends that they're far, far away.

 

***

 

(Zolita-Eve wraps her arms around herself and sleeps alone for six months, On the seventh day, she sneaks into His study to find evidence of a half-remembered secret.

That night, she sneaks into Lilith-Eve's bed.

Lilith-Eve is stiff and unresponsive against her, but Zolita-Eve wraps herself around Lilith-Eve anyway. Whispers into her neck, “I saw the Book.”

Lilith-Eve doesn't show any sign that she's heard Zolita-Eve, but Zolita-Eve forges on. “It's not what She says it is. It's not like our writing-books. It's yellow and torn and there are pages missing, numbers missing.” Then, “I don't think They actually know what they're talking about.” That's the most dangerous thing Zolita-Eve has ever said. It doesn't _feel_ dangerous, though. It feels like a weight finally coming off her shoulders.

Especially when Lilith-Eve unbends enough to grab Zolita-Eve's hand, to clutch it tightly.

“I'm sorry.” Zolita-Eve has only ever said those words to Her before, and she's never liked saying them, but now, they feel right. “I'm sorry, Eve.”

“It's _Lilith_ ,” Lilith-Eve says. “My name is Lilith.”

Zolita-Eve remembers that long-ago day and Lilith-Eve and Her and that other person.“Okay, Lilith. I'm sorry.”

Lilith-Eve brings Zolita-Eve's hand up to press against her mouth. When she feels the cool lips brushing her skin, sending tingles through her arm and down her body, Zolita-Eve knows she's forgiven.)

 

***

 

The next day, it's one of the other girls who angers Her.

She comes back sniffling,with tear-stains across her cheeks and dark red stripes across her palms, but she isn't gone for long.

The wait is agonizing, of course. Waiting for someone who's in with Her is always agonizing, stretching on forever and ever. Lilith and Zolita clutch each others' hands behind their backs, a touch permissible now that She's gone and everyone is thinking of Her.

But the girl (names, their names, are dangerous, but Zolita won't call anyone Eve, so she compromises) comes back after a short stretch of infinity rather than a large one, and it's a relief. There are thousands and thousands of punishments and She's chosen this, with not even a lecture to go with it.

No humiliation, no sharp, biting words, nothing but pain.

It is, Zolita thinks, watching as She emerges from the study, poised and perfect as always, a very mild punishment, considering how much the girl had broken Union, had fallen out of line and out of rhythm.

At Her command, they begin chanting the Vows of Womanhood and the Prayer of the Lady together.

(Even as she mumbles _I am at your mercy_ again and again, Zolita is glad it isn't her. She's always glad it isn't her. Sometimes, she thinks She hates her more than every other girl in this entire _goddamned_ school.)

 

***

 

(There are more books. Zolita-Eve becomes brave, after that, starts sneaking into Her study, and His, less often. The other books are hidden away in cupboards, dusty, unopened, but they're books, and it's not just a Book, it's books.

They had taught her to read. She and the other Eves all know how to read, to write and read phrases and passages from the Book, and now she's using it against them. She never sneaks off with any of the books, but she reads them, in snatches, lips forming the shape of words whose meaning she doesn't know (and there are so many of those, so much knowledge slipping through her fingers).

She whispers stories to Lilith, stories she reads in snatched moments, of queens and princesses and crickets and earthworms and rows and rows and rows of numbers and people in boxes that fly.

 _Imagine,_ she whispers into Lilith's hair, _imagine seeing the ocean, seeing what waves look like._ _Imagine,_ against the back of her neck, _flying above the sky and touching the clouds. Imagine,_ against Lilith's shoulders and back, _being able to come back to the same place if you walk far enough, because we all live on a curve._

She whispers all these things to Lilith, and the thrill that runs through her, the white-hot spark of heat at every smile Lilith smiles and every touch she gives, is ever-present under her skin, a buzzing hum. And so she whispers more words, more books, more dreams to Lilith.

And soon to the other girls, too. Never directly, never all together, but she whispers to Lilith, and Lilith whispers to someone else, Zolita-Eve would rather not know who, and that someone else whispers to another someone else. On and on, until almost every girl (and that's a lot, because in the past years, while Zolita-Eve wasn't looking, their numbers have swelled) in the school hears.

The symbol goes around to a select few, though. There are levels, and levels, and Zolita still isn't sure what they're doing.)

 

***

 

The girl who tried to call herself Edie _hates_ Zolita now.

Zolita murmurs this to Lilith, one day in bed. “I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have, I know that now, but I didn't then, and if there's any way I can make it up to her—”

Lilith shakes her head, an incremental movement. “Zolita. You can't.”

“Why not?” Her whisper sounds as angry as a whisper can be, and she's angry, annoyed, at herself or Lilith or Edie, she doesn't know which.

“If you go to her, if you don't let her come to you, she's—she was hurt pretty bad, and you scared her out of her mind besides. Let her be.”

Zolita sighs. Maybe Lilith's right, maybe it's the best thing to do, but it doesn't feel right to her. She was such a little idiot, and really, the fact that it's taken this long for her to even _try_ to make it up to Edie—

Lilith kisses the top of Zolita's head, feather-light. “Don't, Zolita. She knows the codes, she's been told the stories. If she wants to find you she will.”

It feels wrong, incomplete. Like she shouldn't. But Lilith's the one who knew Edie best, back then, and if she says so, she must be right. Or at least, more right than Zolita could ever hope to be. So she settles down against Lilith, both of them alert enough that they're not fully asleep, but tired enough not to be fully awake either.

 

***

 

(Sometimes, what they whisper to each other in the night devolves into wordlessness, just the two of them mouthing at each others' skin and rubbing and clutching and holding, because everything feels so good, so new, and more when they shyly move hands under clothing, seeking warmth but finding a—spark. A spark that leads to a tide that rises, rises, and it's as if their hands know where to touch, where to rub, and they ride a wave of pleasure together, enjoy the motions as it sweeps them to its peak.

There had been a lecture on that, a few years back, on how it was sin and abomination to touch anyone as you should touch your husband—

But Zolita-Eve doesn't care.

She's thinking, these days, that she doesn't want a husband, doesn't want to obey and respect and be a good wife, doesn't want a forever-and-ever. She doesn't want safe.

She wants Lilith.)

 

***

 

They exchange glances out of the sides of their eyes as they walk, giggle, softly, in queues, make faces when Her back is turned.  
  


Their every moment is regimented, but not regimented enough. Zolita basks in Lilith and neither of them can stop her, not with pain and not with disapproval and not with their stupid words ( _men_ , what are _men_ , He's the only man she's ever seen and she's not impressed).

It's silly and stupid and liable to get them both killed, but the last punishment broke something in Zolita—in Lilith, too, she thinks—and she just doesn't care any more. None of it matters but Lilith.

 

***

 

(One of the last times she visits Her office, she finds three things: a strangle glossy stripe of paper with letters on it, the type of paper she's never seen before, a coloured picture with real-looking people on it, and a symbol scrawled in pen on a piece of paper.

The symbol, she thinks, will go to the girls. They need something to hold onto, a talisman, a charm, and what harm will a symbol do, something made of circles and sticks all lined up?

The coloured picture is...puzzling, because it's a school like theirs, also called Cadosia from the sign by the door, but everyone looks happy. And one of the subjects has a arm around another, and they're kissing, and they're both women, and it's strange. It's beautiful, but strange.

And she traces the words on the glossy paper: Zolita. Zolita. _Zolita,_ she thinks, is a nice name. She'd like it to be hers.

“My name is Zolita,” she tells Lilith later, when she climbs into her bed. “I'm Zolita.”

Zolita can feel Lilith's smile curving against her shoulder. “Zolita. I like it.”

She revels in the warmth of Lilith's smile for a while before she presses the paper into her hands.

The secret of Cadosia she keeps to herself. She doesn't know what to do with it, how to understand. If this is from Before—

Well, everything they've been told is a lie.)

 

***

 

Zolita and Lilith kiss any chance they get, deep and desperate and reckless.

It's foolish. Both of them know it's foolish, but neither of them can stop, their hands wandering, scrabbling all over each other when their quietly break away from the girls (when they're not in formal Union, of course, because going missing during formal Union is a recipe for disaster).

At night, Lilith crawls into Zolita's bed, kisses her way down Zolita's abdomen while Zolita's hands twist in her hair. It's hot and warm and touches something deep inside Zolita, and even as her muscles spasm, she's crying, big, gasping tears muffled by biting into her arm.

She's crying even as she twists her wrist to stroke Lilith the way she likes it, crying as Lilith shudders silently against her, crying as Lilith settles her head on Zolita's shoulder.

“Hush,” Lilith whispers, soft as her voice can go. “Hush, Zolita, you're alright.”

Zolita's insides clench, and she closes her eyes as Lilith brushes her thumb against her eyelashes, brushing away teardrops. Her voice is still stuck, and her body won't seem to stop crying any time soon.

“I'm sorry,” she manages to force out eventually, and winces at how loud and gravelly her voice is.

But Lilith only shakes her head (Zolita can feel the movement against her). “I know, Zolita. It's alright, you're okay.” But her voice is wavering too, Zolita realizes with astonishment, and when she reaches up to touch Lilith's face it's wet with tears.

Zolita doesn't know why she's crying, how she's crying, still, but it doesn't matter. She curls herself up around Lilith. Together, they weep.

 

***

 

(Zolita thinks about that photograph Cadosia a lot, and about that long-ago night with Lilith and Edie.

And she thinks: “I'm not _Her_.” It's a revelation and not, both at the same time, and a kind of peace settles over her as she thinks it.

“So,” she asks Lilith jokingly, “do you have any ideas on how to dismantle this place?”

Only, Lilith answers, quite serious: “I thought you'd never ask.”)

 

***

 

There are rumours of movements Outside. Of people banding together, of trying to rebuild. Not many, and filtered and distorted and held secret and murmured in the dead of the night, but the rumours are there.

And the older girls begin to find husbands very, very quickly.

(The poison is moving fast, the rumours say, and young Wives are needed. Young Wives who spent their first years of bleeding safe, secluded.

Zolita doesn't understand any of these words, and Lilith's explanations only muddle her more. The poison affects girls who bleed, young girls who bleed, but once they're past fourteen or sixteen or thereabout, the danger passes. At least, Lilith says, that's how she remembers it. _Why_ , Zolita asks, and Lilith is speechless. _Because. It's just how it is._ )

The older girls disappear, and She grows stricter, crueller. The slightest deviations, the slightest changes, even the smallest of the breaks to the Union, and the punishment is swift and harsh.

The clock is ticking. Zolita feels it under her skin, beneath her palms, crawling down her throat and through her stomach. Their time's almost up.

 

***

 

(They make plans. Plans they don't even dare speak aloud, plans they trace into each others' palms and backs and shoulder-blades and breasts.

 _We'll leave,_ Lilith taps out, agonizingly slowly, the patterns their own code, not the girls'. It's too dangerous otherwise. _We'll leave, all of us._

And Zolita adds: _We'll lock Her and Him up in the attic and leave them there to rot, and we'll open the gates and tear them off the fence-posts and everyone will leave._

They make plans, too, for just the both of them. Neither of them like to think about those plans, because those plans mean leaving the other girls behind. But—

But.

Zolita carefully doesn't think, squirrels the thought away somewhere deep. She thinks—hopes—Lilith does the same.)

 

***

 

What tips the balance, finally, is not one of the many, many cruelties She inflicts on them. It's another day, another Union, and they're moving together, moving in sync, when they catch each others' eyes.

 _I can't do this any more,_ Zolita thinks, suddenly weary, as her arms sway.

In Lilith's eyes she sees the same exhaustion.

They need to talk. They need to talk, put one of their plans in motion or just talk, just talk and hold each other and come back out better able to face Cadosia and its regime.

Whatever they do, whatever the risk, they need to talk.

 

***

 

(Edie comes to Lilith, one day.

Zolita hears about it second-hand, but what she learns is this:

Edie grabs Lilith's arm as they're filing out of the lunch hall, one day. “I know you're planning something.”

She's loud, too loud, and Lilith wants to slap a palm over her mouth, but that would be more incriminating than anything else. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Lilith—”  
  


“I don't know what you're talking about,” Lilith repeats, eyes forward, back straight, meeting Edie's gaze dead-on. “I don't know what you're talking about, Edie.”

“It's not just the symbol, not just what you've told us, I know.”

Lilith tucks her lips between her teeth, clamps down upon them. She won't answer. She's not stupid.

“I know that girl you've been spending so much time with since the beginning—and I don't get why, she's such a dumb suck-up—I know she's planning—”

It's a bad idea, Lilith will say, later, she knew even then it was a bad idea, she'll say. But in the moment, she says, in a hissed whisper, “ _Edie_. If you keep spreading lies about Z—that girl I'm going to report you to Her.” A sudden strange anger, Lilith calls it, later, like a storm suddenly crashing down, and Zolita has to smile at the fury in her lover's tone. Lilith never gets angry, not like this, and that accusations against _her_ provoke Lilith—

It feels good.)

 

***

 

“We're leaving,” Lilith whispers.

“Lilith—”

“Hush.” Lilith presses a finger against Zolita's mouth. It hurts (her lip is still raw where it was split open), but it's a good hurt. “We're leaving.”

“If they catch us—”

“They won't.” Lilith kisses her, once, firmly.

Zolita closes her eyes. She can't find it in herself to argue with Lilith, no matter how much she knows it's a stupid idea. Leaving the other girls to fend for themselves, for one—

But she's so, so tired. “We're leaving,” she agrees. “We'll find a way.”


End file.
